


Real

by gothbaby



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Bill is a great bf, M/M, They're cute, Yum, a tuff morning for stan :(, happy towards the end, kinda sad, sfw, soft, uhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 12:12:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothbaby/pseuds/gothbaby
Summary: Bill, being a realist, likes to face things head on. It’s not like he’s going to sit there and let Stan stress out over burnt eggs. He checks to see if the aisle is still on before softly prying Stan’s hand off of the skillet handle.





	Real

It’s a clang of pots that wakes Bill up.

It’s not that no one in the apartment cooks. Bill would like to say he knows the basics. He doesn’t. His cooking skills have narrowed down to grilled cheese and cereal. 

Stan cooks from time to time. Not enough to be depended on, though. They survive.

At least he hopes that it’s Stan that’s clanging pots at 11:21 on Saturday morning. It would be a problem if it wasn’t. It might not even, considering how suddenly hungry he’s become. 

He sits up on the queen sized bed feeling like a bear leaving hibernation. His thought process is something along the lines of; “if I don’t eat this particular second, my stomach acids are going to burn all of my intestines and I won’t even be able to digest milk.” 

Even with his foggy mind, he can smell a faint odor of burnt eggs. It’s oddly specific that he knows it’s that, but having tought Georgie how to make breakfast he’s smelled it more than the average person. 

He can also hear groaning, or is it whining? He thinks that whichever one, he should be there to console it. Especially if it’s Stan, and not some sad, hungry burglar. 

Deciding that he’s waited long enough, he grabs the closest shirt to him. It’s a Derry High baseball t-shirt, and he smiles a bit at the thought of his old school. 

That smile widens at the prospect of seeing Stan for the first time that morning. With that thought, he clambers out of the bed fully and down the short hallway to the living room, and enters the kitchen through the doorway without a sound.

Stan doesn’t notice him at first, which he’s confused about as well as grateful for. Stan is facing the stove, which he is also confused about, but it confirms his suspicions about the pots. The kitchen is nearly spotless, save for the skillet on the stove and the burnt eggs inside, and Stan and Bill.

Bill’s always been patient with Stan’s ‘compulsion’. The same way Stan is patient with Bill’s occasional stutter, they’ve made a silent agreement that some things simply are. Stan’s anxiety has subdued but he still has a slight obsession with the simple concept of order and cleanliness. It’s become more like a preference at this time in their lives, due to Bill’s respect of it and his insistence to help out. 

It's not always easy.

Today, for instance, is a hard time. Stan’s still facing the stove, gripping the handle of the skillet with unnecessary force. This doesn’t seem like Stan’s best Saturday. 

Bill decides to make himself known, or rather, acknowledged. He walks to stand beside Stan, leaning on the counter closest to the sink in the process. He tries to catch Stan’s eye but fails epically.

Bill, being a realist, likes to face things head on. It’s not like he’s going to sit there and let Stan stress out over burnt eggs. He checks to see if the aisle is still on before softly prying Stan’s hand off of the skillet handle. 

He moves Stan’s hand upward. Stan is still facing the stove. He gives a tiny, but lingering kiss to the palm of Stan’s hand. He feels Stan’s body tense up, and let’s go of his hand. Stan slouches and he grabs for Bill’s hand. 

He then puts Bill’s hand on his chest. Where his heart is. Bill blushes slightly at Stan’s raised heart rate. He feels like a twelve year old girl. It’s a symptom of loving Stanley Uris.

They let time pass. Centiseconds are like years. Stan breaks the ice.

“Sorry. I burnt the eggs.” 

There’s a slight rasp in his voice. He’s still facing the stove. 

Bill pulls him into a hug. A shock wave of guilt shoots through him. Stan’s hand is still on his heart. Time’s going faster.

“Hmm. I th-thought they were ch-ch-charred.”

Bill is not good with words. He’s not good at giving life advice. He’s good at giving hugs and telling jokes that are so stupid they’re funny. Bill is compassion. Bill is mercy. 

Bill, being a realist, will always be haunted with the reality that someone so perfect feels so much pain on a daily basis. So many expectations and imperfections have turned Stan into a walking phobia.

“You’re an idiot. Sorry for waking you up.” 

Stan’s looking at him now. Everything’s come unstuck. Bill can see a shadow of a smile hiding on Stan’s face. 

“You sh-should be. I w-was having the h-hottest dream.” 

Stan scoffs. Bill is laughing shamelessly now. Stan’s smile has widened, as have his eyes. 

“B-but seriously, you w-w-were in a speedo.” 

Bill says, with a glint in his eyes. He lives for these moments. The only things that matter are their voices, their smiles, and the promise for better days. 

“That’s gross. I don’t have the legs.” 

Bill loves when Stan humors him. He’s undeserving.

“We should get b-burgers.”

Bill’s reminded of his hunger after staring at Stan’s lips for too long. How could something distract him from breakfast? Stanley Uris is a wonder.

“The nearest burger place is like, in Africa. I don’t wanna drive.” 

Stan has this adorable pout on his face that makes him look like the epitome of anything angelic. He is.

"That's wha-what I’m here f-for. To do the thi-things you don’t w-wanna do.”

“Love you. You’re the best.” 

“I love you too. You’re p-paying, baby." 

Bill has only ever felt real with Stan. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading you're the best ever


End file.
